The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 7, 1903, Page 5

SUNDAY CALL. CUPID By Louisz T was #all Cupid's begin- fault in the ning; ghat and the moonlight that fetched the house party of doors and the rascal free of premises. It w not a happy somehow the guests had the pairing oft. were not many of them been so carefully selected view of possible results, red people said the Poplars into a marriage market. She ou Sturtevant, the prettiest the season, said to be on t of an engagement with Randall Edythe Tillotson, belle of several winters, supposed to have inspired a last- passion in young Fleete of the Britisl Raye, the pretty widow, If-engaged to Anthony Car- lor, man about town, ex- Fay Milburn, a little non- who would keep things Harry Cummings, the n from the university, and left little the as very There bad and they by Mrs Ryndall Clyde found the comer sikting on the window sill. new- mmings, the elder, heavy-weight of the ty, whom she intended to reserve as own exclusive property. And she had ed all the men supposed to be at- 1 to these respective feminine The logical result would be sev- zagements and at least ten happy > not counting relatives and friends. t nothing of the sort had happened. he extremely illogical facts were, on this June night, as follows Somewhere in the depth of the rose thicket Edythe Tillotson was wandering with Randall Clyde. “Spooning, by jove,™ thought the wrathful Fleete, who was flirting desperately with the demure d black-gowned Mrs. Raye on the veranda At the far end of the veranda the glim- mer of the debutante’s white gown was seen in the shadow of Cummings’ huge bulk, and he was somewhat laboriously trying to entertain her with compliments, while she, for politeness’ sake, tried to) forget that he was old enough to be her father. Carfax was risking rheumatism and influenza by allowing himself to be walked about the grounds by -Fay Mil- burn, who did not understand his epi- grams apd whose incessant chatter left him no chance to hear himself think, | much less talk. Incidentally the hostess left to make things' pleasant for young Cummings, who was deeply dis- gusted, because he had not come there to amuse dowagers. It was not an appre- clative lot of people. Mrs. Farquhar's house party was as bored as a collander Meanwhile & new guest had slipped ir by the side door, shivered at the chill pervading the premises and scented trou- ble. Randall Clyde, returning to' the house, whither Miss Tillotson had taken herself on plea of fatigue, found the new- comer sitting on the window sill, a tiny, ubby figure, clad in a pair of wings and rose garland and looking very serious. was “How long have things been this way?” he snapped, as If Randall knew all about it. “Ever the since the day we arrived,” said oung mam, after a moment's thought. Well, they can't go on in this way,” said Cupid decidedly. “Go tell those peo- ple to come in. There's going to be a rummage sale.” When the house party assembled in the wide, picturesque, old-fashioned hall they found it placarded with the words “Rum- mage Sale,” done in roses, while the auc- tioneer sat cross-legged with great dig- nity in the middle of a large table, on which was spread a miscellaneous collec- tion of objects. ““This,” said Cupid, holding aloft a with- ered bunch of violets tied with white rib- bon, “I found at the bottom of a man's trunk, together with a lace handkerchief and a note. The note reads, ‘Dear Cecil: Don't forget to come to tea to-morrow. 1 have special reason for asking it.’ And it is signed—" i “Never mind the rest, you little scamp.” interrupted Fleete hastily, his face a vivid scariet. “T'll take that lot at any price.” Miss Tillotson did not say anything, but she seemed to have difficulty in deciding where to look “And this,” & bundle of ent on the auctioneer, “is letters scented with—h'm, A RUMMAGE SALE THAT HELD Lamprey. wood—and dated all the way the last ten years. The super- are in the hdndwriting of at ur persons. ar e you please give those to me?” said Mrs. Rave, in a soft but final tone 1 think you have made a mistake. They are not for sale.” And four men in the company looked re- eved and grateful Cupid picked up a ring set with several ¢ »nds and scrutinized it closely. idently an engagement ring." e owner brought it her ing to find use for it, for here are already engraved on the inside read them? “I don’t millionaire grimiy your fooling.” “This, through seriptior least will quoth think you'd better,” said the Give It here and stop said the little auctionecr, in a e than he had yet been heard to use, “is heart—a girl's heart—quite fresh a priceless value—never worn sleeve The owner gave it away ago; but the person she gave t seem to care for it and she s lost. It seems a pity that the didn’t understand.” Cupid pursed up his lips and thoughtfully out of the window butante, who had just come in, forward with a littie cry: “Oh:" she cried. “Oh!—J—" Then Randall Clyde stepped before her ““That is mine,” he said, “at any price.” And then, as he turned to meet Lou's great brown e widening with a look he had never before seen in them, he felt a tremor as of an earthquake shock, on tk some time thinks i other—person gazed The de- started On reflection, Clyde came to the slon that if ream was as delightful as that the reality would be even m delightful; and as soon as breakfast was over he took Lou Sturtevant for a walk and both of them discovered things. Cum- mings =oon turned his attentlon to Mrs. Farquhar, who made herself very fas- ting. Harry and Fa Milburn went or a sall; and Carfax, with a long sigh f relief, found the restful comprehension { Mrs. Raye most gratifying after the vaudeville in which he had been recently engaged. This assortment of personali- ties left Fleete and Miss Tillotson alone on the veranda. They seemed to like it o well that, when the other couples came Lack, the attache and the belle went off by themselves into an arbor and stayed “ill after luncheon. onclu- A lump of dough guarely on the mouth striking him By Elliot Walker. OMETIMES it seems to me, Ta- bitha, that you think 1 don’t know any- thing,” oLserved Pe- ter in a tone of rue- ful impatience, as he stood just Inside the S kitchen door. His hand held it suf- ficiently ajar to admit a draught of icy air which circulated freezingly about Miss Groot's well developed shoulders, as she kneaded her dough in the bread pan with sounding thumps. 5 “'Obsgervin’ man,” responded the lady. “At certain periods, Pete, I have dis- cerned faint glimmerin’s of intelligence under that old shock of tow, coverin' what in most folks is considered a brain cavity, but not often—not often. Boo! What's open?"” She wheeled her plump figure with an emphatic movement and tr: fixed the thoughtiess Peter with a glare of disap- proval. Tabitha was a student—not in the o dinary sense, but of the rare variety which asslduously seeks for an enlarg ment of knowledge, her spectal ambition being the acquisition of language. Un- happily, or perhaps ptherwise, her oppor- tunities were limited. The Bunfield Ga- zette was her principal source of materi and, coming regularly once a week, sup- plled an effective course of general infor- mation. In this sheet of wisdom Tabitha delved for words of ambitious length. These nuggets, after proper mental assimilation, were applied to Pe- ter as a test. If he one, and his pa's failin’, but no—an edi- fied mind has higher 'aspirations than cows and pigs, and I'll be at the head of a woman's college if T keep on. I ain't only nineteen and impressive of bearing, if 1 do say it. Wonder how I'll look in one of them gowns with a four-cornered hat atop of my auburn locks. Imposin’ as any of ‘em, I guess.” This modest view of the future exalted Tabitha's spirit, as she shoved her loaves into the oven, “Pshaw!" she exclaimed, striking an at- titude. “Laugh at me, will they? Tl the laugh t'other way, and do it ‘Hitch your wagen to a star, n says. He oughter have said ‘unite’ or ‘attach,’ but the idea ain't dis- couragin’, and I'll pitch right in and get attention attracted. Then Mis' Shields can look 'round for other help. Maybe they’ll want me In their office right away. Poor Peter. During the ensuing ten days he was frozen by a succession of refrigerating snubs and acld repulses which cast him into the depths of de- spondency. Tabitha appeared absorbed in rapt contemplation of affairs beyond the mundane. She was silent. yet expectant, as one waiting for a message of unhound- ed import. Still he lingered mournfully about the reglon of Miss Groot's perform- ances with an eye to lending an assist- ing hand. It was not desired. Neither was conversation. Peter visibly drooped. Then eame Thursday evening and the Bunfleld Gazette. Peter welcomed it and at once repaired to the kitchen and held it out as a peace offering. Perhaps this beloved messenger would produce a ben- cficent thaw. The girl's eyes shone, and her cheeks were like peonies. “Look it over,” she remarked in a lofty o volce. “If you find endured themwith- out wincing and with some degree of comprehension, Miss Groot felt se- cure in broader paths. Peter had served time at the district school in the heydey of early youth and *was therefore a fit sub- ject. Being con- sumed with admir- ation for Tabitha's qualities, physical as well as mental, he was also a will- ing one. Now with a ger on he stood ready fin- the door- latch, for Miss All these fou 1903, b The Sunday Call’s New ‘ Storiette Page Gives You Half an Hour With the Best Writers Of the Day. storlettes copyrighted, r.C | anything about me, read it aloud.” Peter glanced through the pages and started. “Lor- dy!” he exclaimed. “You've got In the paper.” *“‘Read it,"” com- manded Miss Groot, sitting up excitedly, “then laugh if you want to." The Young commenced. “A GENEROUS OFFER. “YWe are greatly indebted to Miss Tabitha Groot of Partridge Corners (a satisfled smile s, from that lady), for man McClure. Groot could pro- pel doughballs unerringly when aroused, and eyed her with an expression of sheepish pacification “Come in or go out!" cried Tabitha] in high: wrath, forgetting her scholarship. “Here'm 1, all he't up workin' an' you tryin’ to fix consumption onto me. Shet that door, one way or t'other.” “It's worth while gettin’ you mad to have you talk like a human bein’,” grinned the culprit with a horrible ab- sence of tact. “My head aches yet fro the dose you gin me last night. Folk will be laffin’ at you, first you know. ¥act is, pa an' ma does now behind your buck, an’ while 1 belleves in eddfcation, buvin' had some myself, you'ré slingin’ too many long words for a hired gal, if you are the purtiest woman in Pa’tridge Corners. L'arn all you want, Tabitha, but don't shoot 'em around free, You'll bear from {t, an'—" ‘This speech of mingled common sense, vaintentional insult and compliment was cut off by a lump of dough striking him squarely in the mouth. He darted out, sputtering. Tabitha raged across the room and shot the bolt, her round countenance flaming. Then she bit hard on her rosy underlip and sat down to recover; a precept of learning being an attempt at philosophic calm under trying circumstances. “Let's see,” she ruminated. “Go slow, now, Tab. Think! Pete's edgin’ up to— to matrimonial overtoors—that's right— correct, I mean. You're assistin’ his ma in household duties, ana just as good as he is—hired gal—that was mean.THe flesh is willin’, but the spirit is weakenin'—I swan—that i{s—I utterly swear I won't give such a fool another thought. 'Twill be a mistake. My ideas is more elevated an’ I'll rise with ‘em. Ob, ginger! My bread!” Miss Groot sighed as culinary operations were resumed. ‘“The farm will come Peter in the ordinary course of events, she reflected sorrowfully. “It's a good " the extremely kind communication herewith printed at her request. Our readers we are positive will appreciate it as a contribution to be val- ved. “‘To the Editor of The Gagzette, “ ‘Admired Sir: ighteen months of perusal of your esteemed publication has endowed me with undoubted qualifications for achleve- ments along educational lines, and 1 hereby proffer to you ths advantages of my services for ten dollars a week—be- ing now attained to the age of nineteen years, strong, healthy and of commenda- ble appearances—for the furtherance of the jnterests of your interesting perlodi- cal, and to enable myself to be elevated to be an inmate of some desirable insti- tution in future where my talents will recelve -due appreciation. ‘ *‘Address me in care of Mrs. Timothy Shields, Partridge Corners. T am work- ing for her. Print this, please. “'With my best respects, “‘Tabitha Kittredge Groot.” “We deeply deplore our inability to avail ourselves of Miss Groot's courteous proposition and trust our‘ correspondent will pardon us for trifling changes in her letter—made necessary for the enlighten- ment of our readers. Our sincere advice to this young lady is a declded opinion that she keep right on working for Mrs. Shields of Partridge Corners until time shall bring her a modicum of common sense and some knowledge of English composition, else her ‘desirable institu- tion’ will surely be the poorhouse—"" A cry of anguish from Tabitha stopped Peter's labored enunciation. He did not laugh, but sprang from his chalr and held the bowed head in his great hands with his face against her bright hair. ‘Never mind, dear,” he whispered. ‘I they don't want you, I do. Look up, Tabitha. Say you will."” The girl, still sobbing, stained face and nodded. kissed her in rapturous lifted a tear- Her lover relfef. MUS TERED OUT--svsames no OOR old Jim!" Man after man in the ranks of the three cavalry com- panies at Fort Con- cho used the words as he glanced toward a trooper sitting alone on the sunny. side of the messhouse, gazing away over the undulating country toward the Pe- cos Hills. Private James Bligh—always called Jim except on the muster rolls— had served Uncle Sam for forty long years. No other man could show such a record. He had enlisted at the age of 22, and his service Lkad continued without a break. He was without education, in- clined to seriousness and solitude, but a man always to be depended upon by his officers. They had the will to advance him, and his record after the first year or two deserved it, but he preferred to remain Private James Bligh. Forty years'in the service, most of that time spent in the frontier forts, had brought stirring adventures and honor- able scars to the cavalryman. He had little to say of himself, but the written records of his regiment had done him full justice. Of the thousand men who had come and gone since his first enlist- ment none had a greater number «of cred- it marks for bravery and integrity. But the day had come at last when it was “poor old Jim!” Private Bligh had become an old man. His hair was turning white, his back bent and rheumatie pains had stiffened his legs. He had not noticed it—his comrades had not seen the signs—his officers had not whispered it to each other. It was only when a new colonel came to the post and set about sprucing up the regiment that the word went round. Jim was to be retired as too old for active service. In such cases the Government provides a monthly stipend— about enough to pay for one’'s bread and butter—but it was felt by all the men that it was like turning a faithful old horse out to become the victim of wolves. There was an examining board, with a re- port from the regimeéntal surgeon, and it was settled that Jim should .e mustered out of service. They tried to let him down easy by referring to his honorable record and issulng an’order to be read on parade, but they simply broke the old man’s heart. “It may, be that I have become an old man,” he saild to Sergeant Dalton, as the latter tried to cheer him up, “but I hadn't realized it. No one has seen me shirk my duties on account of my years. I haven't attended sick call in two years. When we were out after the Utes last fall didn't I take the hardships with the . best of them?” “Aye, comrade, you did. If you didn’t know your age to a day I'd deny that you was over forty.” “It's no use, sergeant. I'm sixty-two right enough, and it's time I was turned adrift. I did think to die in the service, but they won't let me.” The papers had gone to Washington for final actfon, and while Private Bligh walited for his discharge he was excused from duty. It thus came about that he rode over toward the Pecos Hills one day by himself in search of mineral speci- mens for the regimental museum. There was peace in the land—peace to be broken by the Indians at a moment’s notice— and he went armed. An hour after his depafture the colonel's daughter, escorted by Lieutenant Graham, took the same route for a morning gallop. They rode stralght away for ten miles, and they passed the soldier without seeing him, although he saw them as he prospected among the rocks. He had secured half a dozen specimens when he gave up the work and sat down in the sunshine with his chin in his hands to ponder. The bit- terness could not pass from his heart. Old men were useless in the army, es- pecially on the frontier, but to be forced out after forty years of service seemed rank injustice. Why hadn’t they waited a bit longer? The restless, treacherous Utes would revolt again in a little while, and his command would be called out as a dozen times before. That would give him a chance to die a soldier’s death —a last chance. In view of his recprd they .shouldn't have begrudged him that. To be mustered out after forty years of continuous service seemed to him an in- glorious thing—to smack almost of dis- grace. An hour passed away as Private Bligh sat thinking, and of a sudden he was aroused from his reverie by the reports of rifles and whoops of exultation from the north. No need for him to sta.d and listen. The shots and yells came from the Utes, and they would not be shoot- ing and yelling unless on the war path. The lieutenant and the colonel's daughter had ridden to the north, and perhaps into an ambush. Fifteen seconds after the first sounds reached his ears Private Jim was in the saddle, and as he rode he unslung his carbine and loosened his re- volver in its holster. There came into his eyes the gleam of battle—into his soul a thirst to do or die. There was a hot gallop for a mile and then Private Jim found the officer and the girl crouched behind a mass of rock and a war party of fifty Utes preparing to rush them. Both horses had bcen shot down and the officer wounded in the first volley and the trooper had only come up when the lieutenant was hit again and fell in a heap. “Up with you, girl,” shouted Private Jim as he bent toward the white-faced girl who huddled against tne rocks. “The lleutenant is dead and it’s one chance in a thousand that we get out of this. Give me your hand.” MAIDENHAIR By Elsie Carmichael. ICK walked the avenue 80 deeply that he looked stralght at Mrs. De Peyster Jones and cut her, to that young woman's sur- prise. “Why, what can the matter be with Dickie?" she said to herself, with an al- most irresistible impulse to turn around and look after the melancholy figure sauntering down the stree . Mildred Jones had been a friend of Dick Eton's ever since they had pleyed in the park and gone to dancing school together. Two years before she had mar- ried De Peyster Jones and now one of her greatest pleasures was chaperoning Dick and his various lady loves. At the same moment Dick was passing a florist’s. A happy thought struck him. “I'l settle it to-night,”” he said to bim- self. *“I'll make Doris say whether she cares for me or not. If she won't have me I'll, I'll—" His eyes wandered yp and down the crowded avenue, brilliant in the spring sunshine. “T'll do some- thing desperate,” he threatened. He went into the shop, heavy with the fragrance of roses and violets, and tried to decide what he would send her. He was golng to take her to a musicale at Mrs. Schuyler's that evening, and as he had forgotten to ask her the color of her gown, he chose white roses. Going to the desk he took out a visiting card and stood hesitating, pen in hand. Should he leave it to the flowers, or ask her to- night at the musicale? “No, I cannot walt until then,” he thought. “I'll let the flowers speak.” Hastily he wrote on the card: “If you care for me a little bit, Doris, carry this to-night.” Then he sealed it up and gave it to the man. “Send the flowers at once to 37 West 7-th street,” he said, as he paid for them. “On no account let thera be any delay.” “Arrah, thin, T want some flowers, a rale illigant design, for me cousin, Mr: O’'Flannagan, who's dade,” exclaimed a voice. A large, showlily dressed, red- faced Irishwoman pushed past him to the counter. down slowly, absorbed . Q!p with you, girl,” shouted Private Tim. RFLEET. He lifted her up and swung her on to the saddle in front of him and the bul- lets were cutting the air all about them as they dashed away. In two minutes they were out of range, but another peril confronted them. A dozen Utes had mounted and taken a short cut and Pri- vate Jim looked ahead to flnd them drawn up across the stage road running between high banks. “Missy, listen to me,” he sald to thé girl he held in his arms. “I'm an old man. I'm to be mustered out because I'm no good any more. I'm going to charge those redskins full tilt. We may die together. If they kill you and I am spared I shall carry your dead body home. If they kill me and you are spared hang to the saddle and the horse will take you safe in. Just shut your eyes and hang on. We are right upon them now— ‘whoop—hurrah!' The Indian ponies wers massed, and the Indians were firing at the horse thunder- ing down, but their bullets missed and he struck the lighter horses to whirl them around or send them rolling. It was a smash—crash—yell-whoop, and horse and rider were through. A vollev followed them as they continued thelr flight, and Private Jim reeled in the saddle and groaned. A minute later he sald: ““Missy, listen again. I've got my death wound. I'm mustered out of service, and it's the way I hoped and prayed for. I've lived like a soldier and I wanted to die like one. I'll be out of the saddle in a minute more, but you hang tight and you'll be taken safe in. Remember—re- member to hang tight—and I had got too old for the service—and I'm mustered out—mustered out—'" And the men who rode out after the girl had raced in and found the body with the two bullet holes in the back and a grim smile on the face with its wrinkles of age, removed their hats and whispered to one another *“Poor Jim! Poer old Jim That evening while he was waiting for Doris he roamed restlessly about the great drawing room. When a little rustle of silken draperies announced her coming be stood like a soldier at attention, await- ing his sentence. The portieres were pushed aside and Doris, in a trailing white gown, stood outlined against heavy curtains—Doris with her blue eves flashing ominously—and with empty hands. Everything seemed to spin around 'So you couldn't carry them, D he cried, hoarsely. while his hand clasped the back of the chair. “I don’t see how you such a thing,” she said, icily. She was still standing and did not make movement to come nearer him “I know it was presumptuous,” he ad mitted, mournfully She laughed mirthlessly. “I thought first you meant it as a joke,” she gaid She walked over to tne fireplace, her v skirt trailing behind her on the ould have asked “I knew you were always playing jokes on people,” she went on, “but 1 never supposed _you could joke about such a thing as this.” She looked at him as he towered abova her. He was a very good-looking man, @Good heavens, Doris, where ¢ you gei that awful thing?’ he e claimed.” she admitted, with his splendid, ath. letic build and his well-bred, clear- cut features. Then she dropped her eyes to the fire again. “So you really had the impudence send {t?" she said, cruelly. Dick became a little angry. “I may- be presumptuous,’” he cried. “But I fail to se2e why you should look on it as impu- dent, Because a man sends a girl flow- ers and shows her that he cares for her with all the depths of his being you think he is impudent.” ‘Well, 1 don't care for your taste,” she exclaimed. “I consider the whole thing an insult, Mr. Eaton, and I do not care to be one of the girls on whom you play Jokes. I have a headache and am not go- ing to Mrs. Schuyler's to-night. Shall I ring?” Dick gathered himgself together. “Good- night,”” he said, coldly, and met the foot- man at the door. After luncheon the next day he found himself in Mildred Jones‘ cozy little drawing-room, pouring, out the whole story into her sympathetic ears. “‘And you sent her white roses?"’ she in- quired, when he had finished the tale. “Yes, Doris was here at luncheon and she told me all about it. I think, my dear boy, that there has been some great mistake. But don’t be discouraged. I will try to manage some way to help you out. Doris was very angry, but I am sure she will forgive you.” There was an amused twinkle in her eyes that Dick could not understand, but he felt her sympathy, and went back to the ciub with a lighter heart. Perhaps an hour later he was called to the telephone and at once recognized Doris’ voice. “Hello! Is that you, Dick?" she said, and therg was a joyous ring about it that set Dick's heart to beating. “Did you send me white roses yesterday?” he cried exultantly; “white roses and maldenhalr.” Doris laughed. “Well, Dick, can—you come up this evening?’ she hesitated. If you will come I will—er—carry your flower: She shut off the telephone in- stantly and Dick was left with the re- ceiver at his ear and a beatific expres- sion on his face. It was with different feelings from those of the night before that he steod by the fire in Doris’ drawing-room that evening, listening for her footstep. But so quietly she came that she stood between the por- tieres before he knew it. Doris, bea itiful as ever, in softest rose color, and holding in her hands—Dick, who had started for- ward with a glad cry, stopped and his hands dropped to his side. *‘Good heavens, Doris, where did you get that awful thin; he exclaimed. Doris, with a merry laugh, held up a hideous form of red and white immor- telles with stiff red roses wired on tooth- picks spelling out the word ‘“Hope.” “Your flowers,” she explained. “Good Lord!" he gasped. “Doris, you didn’t think I sent you that monstrosity, did you? Where are my roses”’ Then his face cleared. “It was that miserable Irish woman,” he cried. “She came in, as I went out, to order some flowers for a funeral, and that stupid florist got the cards and addresses mixed.” ‘“Never mind Dick,”™ she said, leoking at him coquettishly. “You don’t seem to realize that I am carrying your flowers.” But the last word was almost lost, as Dick crushed her in his arms, the “illi- gant design” and all. to